


Drought

by ladymalfoyfics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affairs, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cheating, F/M, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, I APOLOGIZE, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Infidelity, Married Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pining Hermione Granger, The ending is whatever you want it to be, no beta we die like men, or is it really?, this is really not very good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladymalfoyfics/pseuds/ladymalfoyfics
Summary: Hermione Granger did not cry.She used to, a long time ago. On the stairs at Hogwarts. On Harry’s shoulder. Into Ron’s chest. In front of every magical person she knew – both alive and dead – after the final battle. In her husband’s arms, at one point.I suppose she did cry, still, technically. Alone, usually, in the bathroom of their master bedroom that felt less and less like his every day, or into the pillows of the bed she used to share, late at night, when she thought no one was watching.It was a drought, really.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley (mentioned), Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson (mentioned)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	Drought

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! Normally my notes aren't at all necessary, but I think the end notes are fairly important to this work and I hope you'll read them if you can. 
> 
> WARNING: This fic discusses infidelity/affairs. The ending is ambiguous, so I won't say more lest I spoil anything, but if those tropes are in any way damaging to you/your mental health, I encourage you to exit now, no hard feelings. If you do read, I hope you enjoy, and if you don't, I hope you'll check out my other work (The Engagement)!

Hermione Granger did not cry.

She used to, a long time ago. On the stairs at Hogwarts. On Harry’s shoulder. Into Ron’s chest. In front of every magical person she knew – both alive and dead – after the final battle. In her husband’s arms, at one point.

I suppose she did cry, still, technically. Alone, usually, in the bathroom of _their_ master bedroom that felt less and less like his every day, or into the pillows of the bed she used to share, late at night, when she thought no one was watching.

It was a drought, really.

____________________________________

“Where’s Draco tonight, Hermione?”

She had known the question was coming. His absences from their dinners had become more and more frequent over the past several months, and particularly the past few weeks. And she had spent the better part of an hour rehearsing her possible responses in the mirror just prior to stepping through the Floo.

It was not, however, a surprise to her when

“He’s having an affair.”

Came out of her mouth.

She was still Hermione, after all.

Ginny, placing a pitcher of water on the table, snapped her gaze to her curly-haired friend.

The bowl of green curry in Harry’s hands dropped to the table much harder and faster than was intended, his mouth opening into a perfectly-round “O”.

Ron choked on a spring roll.

But Pansy – Pansy just scoffed, sipping her wine.

Three sets of eyes flicked over to the only Slytherin currently gracing the Potter’s dinner table. Hermione simply took a sip from her own glass in turn.

“Wild assumptions don’t suit you, Granger, as Gryffindor as they may be,” she said coolly.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever known me to make unfounded allegations, Pansy?”

Pansy hesitated briefly, a shadow of doubt flickering across her face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. Malfoy men—”

“Are notoriously devoted to their wives. So I’ve been told for three years. It doesn’t change the facts.”

The doubt Pansy so briefly displayed gave way to unconcealed shock. “He wouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter if he wouldn’t. He is.”

“Hermione,” Harry began, cleaning his glasses with the hem of his sweater, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Who?” Ginny demanded.

Hermione shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. “She has brown hair.”

“What are you going to do, ‘Mione?” Ron asked gently.

She sighed: briefly, inconsequentially, so lightly that she could pass it off as just a deeper-than-usual breath. “I don’t know.”

____________________________________

The truth is, she had spent quite a bit of time now trying to determine the answer to that precise question.

If it were up to her, Hermione would have kicked and screamed and cursed in his face, demanding the answers to a number of _why_ s she had brainstormed while sobbing into a pillow one night, alone.

Strategy told her to suck it up for a bit, play this the right way, at the right time, when headlines would either scream “Golden Girl Finally Dumps Death Eater” or ignore the news entirely, playing her cards _just so_ in order to ensure there was no humiliating retelling of how her Malfoy husband had dumped the Mudblood to stick his cock in a cunt that bled _worthier_ blood.

Loyalty was determined to make it work, demanding answers without endings, desiring reconciliation over shouting matches, no matter how many couples’ therapy sessions it took to figure out _what happened_ and how to fix it.

Any shred of rationality, however, was quick to note that the more logical path would involve a close reconsideration of the facts, followed by a short, neutral, objective confrontation that was more of a presentation than a conflict, followed by the removal of _his_ things from _their_ space and a return to her pre-Malfoy life.

And then, of course, there was the path of least resistance: accepting this new reality and ignoring it, possibly taking a lover herself, pretending day-in and day-out that they were still happy, beautiful together, devoted to each other.

None of these paths would deliver her the results she really wanted: her husband.

____________________________________

She had known for a while.

Two months, to be exact.

Divination was bullshit, but there had been a feeling she just couldn’t shake. A feeling that made way for later nights and fewer kisses and an emptier bed and strange withdrawals from their joint Gringotts account and a diamond necklace she had found hidden in a drawer but never received.

Yet, a week after that dinner, she still found herself waiting up on the sofa for hours only to crawl into bed at 2 in the morning, tears falling faster and faster, and hope he’d be there soon.

On her more dramatic days — or perhaps just more honest — Hermione thought watching her husband fall slowly out of love with her was worse than Bellatrix Lestrange’s Cruciatus Curse.

____________________________________

Some days, she wondered who it was. She’d unwillingly rattle through a list of pureblood women, mentally cataloguing their hair colours and types and comparing them to the single strand of hair she had found on her husband’s cloak and now saved in a tiny box.

There was always the classic Potter-Weasley-Granger method, of course.

Polyjuice.

She would just have to look in the mirror.

Drop the strand in a flask of the DMLE’s new 6-hour variant and Hermione would have more than enough time to track down the woman and possibly even run a sting operation on her husband.

She always dismissed it. She knew better than to Polyjuice with a hair of unknown origin.

That was her excuse, at least.

____________________________________

Most days, she filled her schedule so tightly that she didn’t really have time to think.

No time to consider the identity of the woman.

No time to dwell on the undelivered necklace.

And most certainly no time to ponder _when_ or _how_ he might have stopped loving her.

____________________________________

Other days were just strange.

“Do you want to go to dinner tonight?” Draco said abruptly.

She jerked up suddenly. “Do I—what?”

“Want to go out. For dinner. Tonight.”

She gaped at him. He didn’t look up.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

She cursed herself internally for what she was about to say.

“No, I’d love to. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

“Excellent. 7?”

“I— yes. 7.”

“Lovely.”

She cursed herself again as he sprung up and walked away.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have dinner with him. It was that she _couldn’t_ have dinner with him without falling even more in love with him and that was _not_ going to help her when she eventually had to leave him, whether through her own decision or his.

Dinner with her husband was the exact opposite of what she should be doing.

____________________________________

One dinner turned into four.

Every Saturday for the past month.

He hadn’t ended it, she knew that.

The late nights, the strange Gringotts statements, the necklace. Perfume on his shirt, once, something sweet and floral and decidedly different from the fresh, woody jasmine scent she preferred.

No, he definitely hadn't ended it. 

She would have assumed Pansy had told him about her outburst, but even if Pansy would betray her like that (unlikely), breaching her trust would also breach Ron’s trust, and Pansy would never risk that.

Perhaps he finally felt a modicum of guilt.

____________________________________

There was no dinner request for the fifth Saturday.

She had gotten dressed anyway, like a fool.

She cursed at her reflection, beautiful and striking and dominant and _devastated_. Foolishly, foolishly devastated.

She might have cried if she hadn’t known herself well enough to realize she’d likely be spending the rest of the evening on the sofa in a dressing robe, makeup and jewelry still on, hoping he’d burst through any moment with that dazzling smile she _used_ to get from him and whisk her away to their old life once more.

____________________________________

It was pitch black when she woke up with an aching neck and cramped back.

The lights had been on when she sat down.

She fumbled for her wand, knocking over a half-empty wine glass in the process. She swore under her breath.

She lifted her legs off the sofa and made to stand, stepping directly onto the spine of a particularly spiky new hardcover and falling face-first onto the ground.

“Fuck!”

The lights came on. “Hello?”

She whirled around to face the armchair, eyes wide. “Draco?”

His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

 _Perhaps he hadn’t_ , she thought bitterly.

“What are you doing?”

She almost laughed. “What am I—what am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing?”

He rubbed his face tiredly, almost sheepish. “You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to move you.”

She could safely say she was not expecting _that_ answer. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes narrowed for a moment before dejection overcame his features. “I live here.”

“You haven’t been home before 3AM for months.”

“It is 3AM.”

She cast a tempus charm. It was, in fact, 3AM.

“You and I both know you didn’t just get home.”

The dejection on his face deepened. Even after everything, it’s painful for her to watch.

She loves him, after all.

“No, I’ve been here.”

This conversation is not hers to initiate.

“Alright. Well, I’m going to bed. Good night.”

Love can only go so far.

She’d made it halfway to the master when he responded.

“Hermione, wait.”

Her heart thumped.

She hadn’t realized how long it had been since he said her name.

Ron always said she was weak when it came to him.

“It’s late, Draco.”

“I know. Just—please.”

She turned around.

Tears streamed freely, his hands rubbing the droplets across his face. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, looking utterly broken.

She practically ran to him.

“Draco—”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She clutched his frame to hers, both bodies shaking. Her robe was drenched with both of their tears, one patch indistinguishable from another.

Hermione Granger cried.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I wrote this as therapy homework (explanation below) so it's not long or going to be continued, but my ideas for endings are numerous. 
> 
> I like to think that Draco was not actually cheating on Hermione. 
> 
> Although if you're into that explanation -- that he's cheating, and after they both cry and he apologizes she either leaves him anyway (after receiving her closure) or they mend their relationship -- by all means continue to hold that view, I respect the angst. I personally can't believe that ending because Dramione is my comfort ship and therefore I will pretend that ending does not exist. 
> 
> As such, for people like me who need happy endings in order to not sink into a depressive spiral, alternative explanations include: 
> 
> 1) Draco is working on a long-term top-secret Auror mission and isn't allowed to tell literally anyone, including his wife, based on direct orders from the DMLE head (even Harry doesn't know). If he's an Auror, maybe he's infiltrating the new gen of Death Eaters and has to pretend to have an affair with a pureblood woman in order for them to believe him. 
> 
> 2) This is a trope/idea I've seen in a couple of other fics, so it's not mine, but a scenario where Hermione/Draco are receiving death threats and Draco has to pretend to be on the verge of leaving her in order to save her. 
> 
> 3) This one gives me Memory of You by PotionChemist vibes: maybe a pureblood woman is blackmailing him into having an affair. Or Lucius is blackmailing him. Who knows. I don't love this one because I do not like Cheating!Draco. 
> 
> 4) This is my most outlandish idea, so bear with me. Draco works for the Department of Mysteries and he's working on a project in the Time Room. He finds a way to time travel to a different timeline and back and ends up having an affair with Alternate Dimension Hermione. This idea was developed after substantial sleep deprivation. I don't know where it came from. Do not take it seriously. 
> 
> 5) Narcissa is dying and doesn't want to tell Hermione (Not sure why, maybe she still hates her? Maybe Hermione is about to run for Minister or she is already Minister and Narcissa doesn't want to trouble her? Who knows. Up to you to decide that). The gifts are for Narcissa (to cheer her up), the weird bank transfers/withdrawals are for her treatment, the perfume is hers, too, and the hair is from her full-time Healer. They thought she was getting better (hence the dinners) but then she got worse again and that's when Draco breaks down. 
> 
> Okay, phew. In my opinion, this is not very good, so thank you for reading regardless! I had to take a break from my WIP (The Engagement) because of work stuff and now I have the worst possible writer's block and my therapist says it's because I'm a perfectionist and perfection is inherently impossible in fictional writing which makes me never want to publish anything ever (she's right). As such, this is more therapy homework than anything else and I'm really not sold on it but the whole point was to just write something and post it without any edits (basically giving me no chance to overthink). I have even more ending ideas, lol, but I can almost mentally hear my therapist yelling at me for trying to make it perfect and I need to post it now. Hope you enjoy despite the low effort! As always, love reviews!


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